Chapter 6: The Spider, the Arrow, and the Accidental Detour
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: CONTINUED DIVERSIFICATION OF KILLER PROFILES RECOMMENDED. OPTIMIZE FOR UNIQUE SKILL ACQUISITION. REMINDER: EACH DEATH MOVES YOU CLOSER TO FINANCIAL AND SYSTEMATIC PROSPERITY.]
"Oh, 'systematic prosperity,' is that what we're calling it now? Because last I checked, my current level of prosperity involved avoiding being turned into a human smoothie by a giant space worm," I mumbled, ducking behind a rapidly crumbling hot dog stand. The stench of burnt frankfurters mingled with the metallic tang of alien blood and the overpowering scent of ozone. New York really did know how to make a first impression.
Nine unique deaths down, eleven to go for that sweet, sweet first upgrade. I'd acquired some surprisingly useful skills — Energy Weapon Proficiency, Gamma Absorption, Tactical Awareness, Illusion Casting. And then there was "Basic Leadership Aura" from Cap, which, honestly, felt like the universe was trolling me. What was I going to do, inspire a flock of pigeons to attack a Chitauri? Though, now that I thought about it, that actually sounded like a pretty effective prank.
"Alright, Adam, time to think about the remaining big guns. Who haven't I annoyed enough to get themselves killed by yet? And who has skills that aren't just 'can tie a decent knot'?"*
My "Advanced Tactical Awareness" was now a constant, subtle hum in the back of my mind, like a helpful (if slightly judgmental) AI overlay. It wasn't just battlefield awareness; it was an awareness of opportunities. And right now, an opportunity presented itself in the form of a familiar red and blue blur swinging through the wreckage. Spider-Man. Definitely Spider-Man. The guy who always seemed to be in the right place at the wrong time, or the wrong place at the right time, depending on your perspective. For me, he was a walking, talking skill set.
"Okay, Spidey. What do you give me? Wall-crawling? Spider-sense? The ability to make incredibly awkward puns mid-fight? I'll take any of them, especially the puns. Imagine the comedic timing I could achieve with that!"*
I began to move towards the swinging hero, my brain working overtime. How do you get killed by Spider-Man in a way that looks like an accident, doesn't traumatize him too much (he was still just a kid, after all), and yields a useful skill? He wasn't exactly known for accidentally crushing people. More for saving them. My task was to make him fail at the saving part, at least where I was concerned. Temporarily.
I spotted him webbing up a group of Chitauri soldiers who were cornering a few civilians. Perfect. He was focused. He was busy. He was about to perform a heroic feat.
I deliberately positioned myself on a ledge of a crumbling building, making sure I looked utterly helpless and just a little too close to the edge. My "Basic Illusion Casting" created a subtle shimmer around me, making me look a little more precarious, a little more fragile, like I was about to slip. A subtle visual cue that screamed "help me, I'm an idiot!"
Spider-Man, ever the hero, swung towards me. His webs shot out, aiming for a sturdy piece of rebar just above my head, intending to create a safety net. This was it.
"Come on, Parker, give me that sweet, sweet agility. Or the stickiness. Either works. Just don't let me hit the ground too hard. I mean, I can revive, but a little less internal organ scramble would be nice."*
As his webline tightened, I subtly shifted my weight, just enough to make it seem like the web hadn't quite caught me properly, or that the rebar was too weak. The timing was crucial. It had to look like a genuine failure, not a suicidal dive.
The web, under the sudden, awkward strain of my (intentional) momentum, snapped. Or at least, it felt like it snapped. In reality, my "Basic Marksmanship (Improved)" gave me just enough precision to subtly snag a weak point in the web with a tiny, loose piece of debris I'd picked up, making it seem like a structural failure. I plummeted. Not far, just enough to hit a pile of rubble with a rather convincing crunch. The impact was jarring, painful, but brief.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: DEATH DETECTED. KILLER: SPIDER-MAN (IDENTIFICATION: PETER PARKER). SKILL ACQUIRED: BASIC WALL-CRAWLING.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: IMMORTAL SYSTEM ACTIVATED. YOU HAVE 1 LIFE REMAINING AGAINST PETER PARKER.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: 10 UNIQUE DEATHS RECORDED. CURRENT PROGRESS TO UPGRADE 1: 10/20.]
I gasped back to life, my body feeling oddly light and... sticky. Like I'd just been coated in a thin layer of alien glue. My hands twitched, and I instinctively pressed them against a nearby, slightly angled wall. To my utter surprise, they stuck. Not like glue, more like a natural adhesion. I could feel the microscopic friction points.
"Wall-crawling! Yes! Now I can literally scale buildings! No more stairs for this guy! Take that, cardio! My only regret is that I can't do the dramatic upside-down kiss thing. Unless I find a very tall, very understanding lamppost."*
I quickly detached myself from the wall as Spider-Man swung down, landing gracefully beside my recently deceased form. He looked horrified. "Oh my god! Sir! Are you okay? I'm so, so sorry! The web... it just... I don't know what happened!"
I pushed myself up, brushing off imaginary dust, forcing a shaky smile. "Oh, me? Perfectly fine, son. Just a little... clumsy. And apparently, not meant for a career in competitive plummeting. Don't worry about it, you tried your best. Happens to the best of us. Gravity's a real jerk."
He stared at me, then at the supposedly broken web, then back at me. "But... you just... you looked pretty broken a second ago."
"Optical illusion!" I blurted, my "Basic Illusion Casting" skill doing its best to create a subtle flicker around me, hopefully making him doubt his own eyes. "Stress does funny things to the mind, kid. Anyway, you go save the world. I'm just gonna... admire this lovely pile of rubble. It's got character."
I quickly made my exit before he could ask any more inconvenient questions. Ten unique deaths. Halfway there! This was going surprisingly smoothly, all things considered. Now, for the archer.
Hawkeye. Clint Barton. The guy with the arrows. He was somewhere in the mix, probably on a rooftop, being all brooding and accurate. My "Tactical Awareness" soon picked up his signature, perched on a distant skyscraper, raining down arrows with deadly precision.
"Alright, Hawkeye. What's it going to be? Perfect aim? Enhanced vision? The ability to make a quiver out of a fanny pack and still look cool? I'm open to suggestions."*
Getting to him was going to be tricky. He was high up, isolated. But I had "Wall-Crawling" now. This was going to be a test. I found a suitable building and, with a deep breath, began to scale it. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once, feeling my hands and feet adhere to the rough brickwork. I was like a human gecko, except with more existential dread and less ability to change color.
I eventually made it to a rooftop near Hawkeye's perch. He was too focused on the Chitauri to notice me at first. I spotted a group of Chitauri soldiers making their way onto his roof, clearly trying to flank him. This was my chance.
I positioned myself directly in the path of a particularly nasty-looking Chitauri elite, who was aiming a blaster at Hawkeye. I made sure I was clearly visible, a panicked civilian about to become alien fodder. Hawkeye, ever vigilant, saw me. He drew an arrow, his aim true. He was trying to take out the Chitauri, obviously. But I knew exactly where that arrow was headed, thanks to my "Tactical Awareness" and a dash of "Basic Marksmanship (Improved)."
As the arrow flew, I subtly shifted my body, just enough to catch the very tip of the arrow as it passed through the Chitauri's neck, before impacting me with enough force to send me sprawling. It was a precise, accidental-looking impaling. Very dramatic. Very effective.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: DEATH DETECTED. KILLER: HAWKEYE (IDENTIFICATION: CLINT BARTON). SKILL ACQUIRED: BASIC ARCHERY PROFICIENCY.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: IMMORTAL SYSTEM ACTIVATED. YOU HAVE 1 LIFE REMAINING AGAINST CLINT BARTON.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: 11 UNIQUE DEATHS RECORDED. CURRENT PROGRESS TO UPGRADE 1: 11/20.]
I gasped, sitting up, pulling the phantom arrow out of my phantom chest. Basic Archery Proficiency. Not bad. Now I could probably hit a target, given enough practice and maybe a very large target. And a lot of arrows. And someone else to do the actual fighting.
"Alright, Clint. Thanks for the skill. Maybe next time, try a less pointy delivery method. Like, a gift basket. With cookies. I like cookies."*
Hawkeye, seeing me miraculously alive again, lowered his bow, his eyes wide. "What the...?! I just... you were..."
"Don't worry about it, Legolas," I said, waving him off. "Just a minor inconvenience. Happens all the time. You go save the world. I'm just going to... admire your excellent aim. Very impressive. Though, maybe next time, aim for the alien, not the highly resilient, mildly annoying human."
He just stared, completely dumbfounded, as I quickly made my escape. Eleven down. Nine to go. The Avengers were almost tapped out as unique killers. Time to get creative. And maybe focus on the less heroic, more criminally inclined population. Because they had skills too. Shady ones. But skills nonetheless. And potentially, deep pockets.